


I Fall Asleep To The Sound Of Crickets

by nitpickyabouttrains



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Angst, Blood, Dreams, F/M, My writing partner told me: you could write a Darcy dream, So I put them together and this happened, Sorry Not Sorry, Then I thought about it, Then I thought some more, and I had even more lbd dreams, and I said: I don't know what Darcy dreams, and it turned out I did know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitpickyabouttrains/pseuds/nitpickyabouttrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small talk and politeness could get them through the evening. But it would not get them through the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Fall Asleep To The Sound Of Crickets

**Author's Note:**

> [angelheadedhipster](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedhipster/pseuds/angelheadedhipster) reminded me to post this multiple times but I was lazy about finding the HTML.

The house was quiet, still and dark. The only light in the room was the glow of the screen, casting a pale reflection of moving pictures onto those present. On the television screen, the movie was over, returned to the DVD home menu playing in a loop. But there was no one awake to turn it off.

 

On the couches and chairs and floor, they slept. Lizzie, William, Lydia, and Bing. After a long evening of dinner, talking and wine, none had the energy to stay up until the movie finished.

 

Things had been strange. Bing was in town to see some family. Jane had not come with him, unable to take off of work. It was the first time Bing and Darcy really had a chance to talk since Bing left for New York. They had the chance, they had the time, but they had not. Neither one wanted a confrontation. Instead they shook hands and hugged and agreed to move on.

 

Lydia had come unannounced. It was something she started doing when Lizzie and Darcy moved in together. Always full of energy, but always with an edge of panic. Her relationship with her sister was so recently repaired and not yet something she felt confident in. Now Lizzie was living far away, moving on with her life. Lydia was still home, with their parents, getting her life together. She would graduate, but after that loomed a large question mark.

 

Lizzie and William were together, happy. But there was a shadow which sometimes appeared, some things they did not talk about. How her company was barely eeking along and she would not let him help. How much pressure he was under, trying to live up to the daunting figures of his parents.

 

All problems, all discussions that needed to be had, all things ignored as the four friends caught up. Small talk and politeness could get them through the evening. But it would not get them through the night.

 

+++

 

_Darcy dreams:_

 

Standing on the beach, William digs his feet into the sand. It does not feel like normal sand, small particles and grains which shift and fit together to create ground. No, the sand feels strangely even and when William looks down it seems pixilated, made up of evenly sized large blocks. The blocks are different shades of tan. The whole beach looks like it was made in Paint by a child.

 

William glances out to the ocean and realizes it is the same, only with blue. It does not look like the actual water, just cubes of blue and green, but it does act like it. The water bucks and rolls, waves and shutters, laps up onto the shore.

 

The shore is familiar, William knows it well, it is Muir Beach. And suddenly, William knows exactly where and when he is. There is pressure on his right hand and when William shifts his eyes to it, his suspicions are confirmed. There stands his father, holding his hand, looking out at the water longingly, tall and strong as William remembers him. William’s father is dressed in a suit, but he is no longer wearing the jacket or the tie. His collar is open and so are his cuffs. The bottoms of his pants are rolled up and he is barefoot, carrying his shoes and socks in his free hand.

 

Without needing to look down, William knows he is dressed the same, but a smaller version. Because William is little, his father towers over him. To be precise, William is four. And this is the day of his grandfather’s funeral.

 

“There are only two of us now,” Bill Darcy says, as he squeezes his son’s hand. “Only two William Darcy’s left in the world.”

 

Young William nods anxiously, not fully understanding his father but knowing that whatever the older man says, its important. Everything about his father is important and William feels special that he gets to stand with him, alone, for this time.

 

“You are the eleventh William Darcy,” his father goes on, mostly lost in his own thoughts, but still talking to his son. “And the second William F. Darcy. There was one before you. His F stood for Franklin. I know because your mother and I checked, right after you were born. You are so special to us, William, and we felt bad that your name might not reflect that. But it is tradition. Do you know what that means?”

 

“Yes, Dad,” Young William says obediently, even though it is not true.

 

His father seems to hear that because he smirks and says, “No you don’t, not yet. But one day, you will. You will have a son. Another William Darcy, the twelfth of our name, and then you will understand.”

 

“I understand now,” William says, but this time when he speaks, his voice is not small, it is deep.

 

When his father turns around, William finds that he is no longer looking up; he is now the same height as his father. They are eye to eye. Bill puts both his hands on his son’s shoulders and the corner of his mouth turns down, just a little, as he searches his son’s face. “I suppose you do. It’s a heavy burden, to be the oldest William Darcy. You were so young, when I passed it to your shoulders. And to be the last of the name, the only one left, as well? Yes, I think you understand.”

 

They have gone off script now, that was not what his father said to him that day at the beach. But William knows he can’t go back to that day, to being four and having his father take care of him. His father is gone. So William says what he feels the most deeply. “I miss you.”

 

Bill smiles, a sad sort of watery smile, which does not reach all the way up to his eyes. “I know.”

 

Then Bill turns back to the water, and William follows suit. He takes his father’s hand in his once more, wanting the comfort which it brought him as a child.

 

+++

 

_Lydia dreams:_

 

“The problem is,” Lizzie says, picking up the teacup from the saucer in front of her. On her left hand, on her ring finger, a diamond ring sparkles and shines in the bright afternoon sun. An engagement ring, huge and noticeable, and hard to ignore. “She is too tall.”

 

Lydia frowns into her own cup, using it to hide the hurt expression on her face. “No fair, you are just saying that because I am taller than you.”

 

“Lydia is perfect just the way she is,” Jane responds to Lizzie, as if Lydia had not spoken at all. Her voice is as calm and collected, like it always is, soft and kind. But then a small smile forms in the corner of her mouth, as she places down her own cup, and the solid gold wedding ring on her finger clinks along the side of the handle. “But if there was a problem, it would be that she is too short.”

 

They are sitting in a sunroom, with glass walls that let the sun in. All three sisters are sitting around a table, which was set for high tea. There are fancy tea cups, plates of finger sandwiches and a large pot of tea.

 

Each of the sisters is sitting equal distance from the others and they are dressed in colorful sundresses and big floppy hats. Lizzie was all in green, Jane in blue and Lydia herself in purple. Lydia, however, did not care what they were all wearing or where they were. She is just pleased to be spending time with her sisters. She barely gets to see them, these days, since they both lived off in other cities with their boyfriends.

 

“Jane!” Lydia exclaims, shocked to hear her sister say something unkind.

 

“Maybe it is just not meant to be,” Lizzie says, and Lydia turns to look back at her. Lydia notices, all of the sudden, that Lizzie had changed. Around her midsection, Lizzie’s dress is extended out, her stomach swollen and full. She looks pregnant.

 

Lydia turns to look at Jane, to share a glance of surprise about Lizzie’s current state. But she is distracted again because now in Jane’s arms there was a small bundle of pink blankets. Jane is cradling it, and out of it waves a small infant’s fist. “It’s not her fault,” Jane sounded sorry, “Lydia was not made for this sort of thing. It is not in her nature.”

 

“Why not!” Lydia stamps her foot, even seated. She knows she sounds petulant, but she does not care.

 

“There is no need to get snippy,” Lizzie sneers, “it’s not our fault.”

 

Lydia turns to her middle sister to make a face in response to that, but now Lizzie had changed again. She looked like normal, no more big belly. But there was now a small child, maybe a year old, on her lap, a little boy. He has dark hair and a small red bowtie, a miniature version of Darcy.

 

“Everything is different now,” Lydia complains, “everything is changing and I don’t want to be left behind. You two always leave me behind.”

 

“We don’t do it on purpose,” Jane shakes her head ruefully, “but you can’t expect us to pause our lives, to delay.” Lydia turns back to Jane and the infant in her arms is gone, changed into a child, a toddler, a small red haired girl with a big pink bow in her hair.

 

“You have to keep up, if you don’t want to miss out,” Lizzie agrees.

 

+++

 

_Lizzie dreams:_

 

The escalator is rising, bringing her up quickly. Most escalators do not seem to move all that fast, but this one, this one is speeding. Lizzie knows it is going fast because all around the steps,everything is a blur. Colors and lights and shapes blend together in a sea of blues and purples.

 

Glancing back behind her, Lizzie can see nothing but the well from which the machine originated. Flights and flights of moving stairs. The escalator has no start, it just goes on forever behind her. Lizzie cannot remember getting on it, where it was or what she was doing. The deep endlessness is not comforting, it gives her a sickening feeling, so she turns back forward.

 

What the escalator is missing, other than a bottom, is other people. There is no one else riding with her. No one walking, trying to get to the top sooner. No one at all. Of course, she thinks, there could be other people offnot on the moving machine. In the blur. Being passed by. She has no way of knowing. But it is still lonely. She longs for her sisters, for Charlotte, for someone she can turn to and make snide remarks about where she is to lessen the fear.

 

Up ahead, there is a white light, pale and dim and soft. It is pulsing slightly, and as Lizzie is brought closer to it by the escalator, she can feel warmth emanating. It is the top.

 

As the steps begin to level off, Lizzie looks up. And there is a person, solidifying in the light. Broad shoulders, tall frame and twinkling blue eyes. William. His hands are at his sides and he is looking right at her, a grin on his face, like he has been waiting there for her, forever.

 

A pleasant warmth fills her, happiness. Just seeing him there, waiting for her, is enough. After all their troubles, he is steadfast, constant. Lizzie would easily admit that she does not want to lose that.

 

“I’m impressed,” she says, without thinking at all.

 

The words just flew from her mouth, without her putting them there. Lines in a script she read and memorized but did not feel. Was she impressed? Why?

 

“Well, I’m in love,” William says, his eyes bright and shining, reaching out a hand for her.

 

Lizzie wants to burst out laughing. The line is so corny. And familiar. It occurs to her, all of the sudden, that this is not random dialogue. This is from a movie they watched a few nights before. Cruel Intentions. The man waiting at the top of the escalator, even his blue sweater, it’s all what happened on the screen.

 

Her gut is telling her to ask what is going on, to demand to know what they are doing. Panic is building up, because she knows how the movie ends. The lines he is saying, the character he is playing, does not live to see the end of the movie. Instead she throws her arms around his neck, standing up on her tiptoes, and captures his lips in a passionate kiss.

 

She can’t change what happens. She is powerless.

 

+++

 

_Bing dreams:_

 

Standing by the pool, outside in the backyard of the Netherfield house, Bing and Darcy face each other, shoulders nearly touching. The day is warm, the sun hot and no breeze or wind can be felt. The heat is thick and palpable, which is not usual for California.

 

“Why would you do this to me?” Bing asks, fraught .   

 

He can see Darcy’s eyes narrow. “I am not hurting you,” Darcy says, his voice robotic and in charge, like he is giving directions. “I am helping you.”

 

To Bing, this is confusing. Darcy is his best friend, he has been since they met the first week of college. They have been through a lot together. Bing truly believes that Darcy cares for him, and only acts in his best interest. And everyone who knows Darcy knows that he takes care of the people he loves. Which means that Darcy must be acting in Bing’s best interest.

 

But how can this be what is best, when it hurts so much.

 

He tells Darcy, “It hurts.”

 

They both look down. The hilt of a knife is sticking out of Bing’s stomach, the blade fully sheathed in his body. Blood is spreading out around the wound, soaking up his shirt, painting him red. Crimson flows down the knife and onto William’s hand, which is firmly wrapped around the handle.

 

“Does it?” Darcy sounds genuinely curious, like this was not the reaction he was expecting. He is also looking down at the knife in Bing’s flesh, but he does not remove his hand.

 

“Yes,” Bing winces, “Yes, it hurts.”

 

Reluctantly, Darcy lets go of the blade and raising his hands, palm up into the air, admitting surrender. In doing so, however, he has left the weapon in Bing’s body. “Perhaps you would hurt less,” Darcy suggests, “if you did not think about it.”

 

Most of Bing’s shirt is red now, there is blood everywhere. Even on the ground, it is pooling up, so that both men are standing in the crimson liquid. It is on both of them.

 

Even having quit med school, Bing can tell this is not good. Maybe one of his vital organs is pierced. A wound to the abdomen could be fatal, if it was not treated. “I am not sure that will fix this mess,” Bing admits.

 

“You could try,” Darcy shrugs.

 

With so much blood all around, Bing is not sure what could possibly be left in his body. He must be close to empty. How will he keep living with nothing running through his veins? Across from him, he can see that Darcy looks abashed, and he was trying to be helpful. So Bing gives him a weak watery smile. “I forgive you,” he says, even though Darcy has not asked for it, not said he was sorry.

 

“I knew you would,” Darcy smiles back.

 

+++

 

It was Darcy who woke first, jolted from sleep, the faint whiff of salty sea air still lingering in his nose. He reached for the remote and turned off the screen, plunging the room into complete dark. Reaching over to a lamp on the table, Darcy flicked on the light. The brightness woke the others. Bing first, clutching his stomach. Lizzie was the next one up, blinking blearily at Darcy. Last, Lydia opened her eyes, greeted by the sight of Darcy leaning over and placing a chaste kiss on Lizzie’s forehead. Without so much as a word, all four made their way out of the living room, up the stairs, to their own beds.

 

Lizzie looked back on her way up the stairs, seeing the empty couch, the dark room.  Everything was fine, she knew that, but she also knew that nothing was alright.


End file.
